At first, I think the swaying is in my head, because I have a massive headache.

Opening my eyes, my head nearly splits open at all the brightness. I feel kinda drunk. (I have been drunk precisely once, with Johnny. There's a reason he never jacked me out of his inner circle, even when I went dark for months on end. He said shit that night.) When the pounding in my head subsides enough for me to focus on anything else, I take in my surroundings. The room I'm in is small, and vaguely tunnel shaped. Boxes line the walls. The room sways again, and I realize it's not in my head.

It's a plane's cargo hold. I scramble up, picking up my leather jacket as I go. It had been folded under my head like a pillow. As I shrug it on, I notice that it smells weird. Not bad, just... weird. Like a meadow or something.

Oh my God. He washed my freaking jacket. 

A door opens behind me, and I spin, my body tensing as Oliver walks in, bearing a bottle of Advil and a glass of water.

"Hi," he says, passing me the godsends. 

"Oh, more drugs. Joy."

"I mean, definitely don't feel obligated to take them, but I would, considering all the stitches you needed on your leg."

I snort, taking the Advil. What the hell? It can't get much worse from here. Maybe I'll OD before he tortures me, or whatever.

"First you wash my jacket, then you bring me painkillers? You're not very good at this whole kidnapping thing, are you?"

He grins, and it's the grin of complete innocence, which pisses me of. "I would disagree, considering you're in a plane right now." He coughs awkwardly. "I just want you to know, I'm not a pervert, or anything. If it were up to me, I'd explain the whole thing right now, but... I can't. All I can say is that it has to do with your parents."

My anger flames, and I lunge, slamming him against the wall. "Don't you dare bring my parents into this."

He grins again, infuriatingly, and pushes me off. "Wheel's down in five. You coming?"

My parents. He's probably just baiting me, but...

But what if he's not? The little voice in my head whispers.

Reluctantly, I follow. What choice do I have?

What choice have I ever had?